


Without a Paddle

by honey_over_thunder



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 07:39:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15432195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_over_thunder/pseuds/honey_over_thunder
Summary: A sweet interlude with a change of pace. Author’s first work!





	Without a Paddle

“John?”

John hums a response. He does not break the indolent rhythm of push-leisurely-pull.

“John.”

John’s hips rock languidly.

“John!”

John doesn’t look away from where he’s steadily driving into and out of his love.

“Sherlock.”

“John. This is all fine and good, but it’s taking forever.”

“We’ve been at it five minutes.”

“As I said.”

John huffs fondly.

“John...”

“Yes, love.” The languorous push-in, draw-back pace does not change.

“The transport wants something... rougher.”

Maddeningly, the next rock is even slower. Contemplative. John lifts his head and glimmers at Sherlock.

“Wanna spank me?”

A flash of pleased surprise, then a burble of laughter. “You didn’t get enough in the service? Surely, you’d‘ve been disciplined more than once or twice, Three Continents Watson.”

“My paddling all happened off duty, ta.”

The thought of John and a paddle is enough to make Sherlock clench. John’s breath shudders, his hips jerking into the cradle of Sherlock’s lap. His head drops into the juncture of Sherlock’s neck, his face landing in the negative space on the pillow next to Sherlock’s ear. The lovers pause.

A moment later. “You don’t have to spank me, but please, God, let me move.”

Sherlock hums deep in his chest.

“What do you think I’ve spent the past God knows how long asking— oof!”

John’s hips snap into the cradle of Sherlock’s thighs, beginning a pace that could be called punishing, excepting the fact that both men involved enjoy it as much as they do.

 

In the midst of all this love, John feels a lock tumble into place in his spirit. For a moment, he gazes at Sherlock, feeling as though he’s outside of himself. Sherlock looks to be in an exquisite sort of pain.

‘I love him,’ John thinks to himself. ‘God, do I love him.’ The thought pushes him to shore himself up, and, arms straining, he doubles down on Sherlock, pistoning in and out. Sherlock lets out a grunt before his eyes fly wide open.

“John—!” is all he manages before he freezes, head recoiling deep into the pillow. His come paints John’s stomach. Sherlock’s love catches John’s release, and pulls it from him with little warning, and less compunction. A long, low groan is all John has to offer alongside his deepest self. 

After, they forgo the duvet and cover each other with arms, legs, and thundering chests instead. They’ve nearly wound themselves and each other into sleep, when Sherlock murmurs, “Tease.”  
“Hm?”

“Bringing up the paddle.”

John huffs again.

“Behave yourself, and maybe I’ll use the paddle to bring you up, instead.”

Sherlock sighs contentedly. “Promises, promises.”

John smiles into Sherlock’s curls.

“Go to sleep.”

They do.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a drip drab of a little interaction, but it’s the first thing I’ve written, and I wanted to share it. Thank you for sharing your time. :)


End file.
